


Lost

by Maisunadokei1856



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 12:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maisunadokei1856/pseuds/Maisunadokei1856
Summary: Echo can only be Echo, but the reminiscence of an ordinary day can be the most special thing.





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maddy_angst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddy_angst/gifts).



_When Echo woke up, she felt a lingering softness she did not have a name for. She did not remember where it came from, and she noted that fact as well in her diary. She must have had a nice dream._

* * *

 

The previous day had been nothing if not ordinary. Running errands for the lord Vincent Nightray, and otherwise helping servants with his room — it was always a hard sight to behold —, or helping the cooks shred cabbage — for some reason she did that better than any of them —. In fact, it could even be said that the day had been almost relaxing. Vincent did not have some secret, dangerous work to ask of her, and his mood was good enough that he did not need to vent it off on her. It might have had something to do with the state of his room, even more disgusting than usual; no small amount of scattered, torn plush toys littered the floor, cotton leaking out of their throats and bellies. _An utter waste,_ Echo thought. Deep down however, the grim sight filled her with a sense of unease she couldn’t define if she tried. It would only take a small amount of imagination for the toy-filled floor to evoke the image of a deserted battlefield where only corpses remained; or maybe the reminiscence of a castle and a tragedy that happened a hundred years ago.

Echo however, did not possess even that amount of imagination, or at the very least, she was not aware of it if she did. All the same, suspicion filled her eyes, and instinctively, she clutched _Jyanta-san_ closer to her chest.

“Echo,” came Vincent’s voice from over the couch, lazy and soft and dangerous, just like the gaze in those mismatched eyes. Only then did Echo notice a neatly wrapped box and a bouquet of black roses on his lap. “Would you take this to my Gil? He has been away for so long, and I’m _worried_ ,” he mourned, and _clink_ , added the scissor in his right hand, cutting through the side of the rabbit-shaped black toy in his left one.

He didn’t sound worried in fact — not that she somehow had a right to talk about the emotion (or lack thereof) in people’s voices —, but to his credit, neither did his annoyance show in anything beside the brusque movements of the fingers that held the scissor, relentlessly stabbing and cutting the soft cotton-filled fabric. His words might have been formulated as a question, but Echo knew better than to waste time thinking of another answer than the only expected one.

“Yes, _Vincent-sama_ ,” she responded as she promptly reached out to the gifts Vincent had prepared, and _clink_ , came the sharp sound of the scissor the moment her ear was on the same level as the blonde’s hands. It was all Echo could do not to storm out of the room and out of the mansion, off to inquire about the lord Gilbert’s whereabouts; she couldn’t explain why, but the sight of the black, cotton-filled ear falling on Vincent’s lap right under her eyes had made her unspeakably uncomfortable.

* * *

 

“So you are looking for _Gilbert-kun_ , aren’t you?” asked a lazy, soft, dangerous voice, that for some reason did not make her uneasy like her master’s would. Neither did the man’s right eye — the only visible one — truly look like Vincent’s own, of the same mysterious and eerie red. Echo was no less aware of the enmity between the two men, however similar they might have looked; and she was most certainly going to omit the part where she went to Break for information in her report to Vincent. The silver-haired however did not seem to hold her in contempt on account of whom she served. In fact, ever since the unfortunate incident where Noise abducted his lady and Vincent poisoned her, he seemed to treat Echo, who prevented the antidote from being lost at the last minute, in the same playful, annoying, mocking way he treated his friends. She had nonetheless taken care not to carry Vincent’s flowers with her when meeting the man; she might not have been the most thoughtful person in the world, but this amount of tact seemed obvious even to her.

“Yes,” she replied simply, hoping the Hatter would answer just as quickly.

In the spacious roof, Xerxes Break was apparently having a tea party of sorts. He sat alone on one side of the table, and across of him was the young lady Sharon Rainsworth, the Rainsworth duchess’ granddaughter. On Sharon’s left sat a man wearing the Pandora uniform, his hair short and brown, and his eyes framed by a pair of glasses.

“Would you mind joining us for tea, _Echo-san_?” Sharon Rainsworth politely invited her, and Echo was about to raise her hand to decline, but before she could voice her refusal, Break’s voice quickly came to support the lady’s:

“That is a wonderful idea, _Ojou-sama_ ,” he said as he gestured to the empty chair on his right side. “ _Echo-kun_ must be tired, and in need of some refreshment... Right?”

The look in his eye right then left no room for argument.

“Don’t mind him, “ said the other man after she was sat, pouring a cup of tea and handing it to her with a smile. “He simply enjoys being annoying.”

Reluctantly, Echo took a sip of the sweet black tea, and it made her think back to the last time she had been so effortlessly included in a tea party; _“I want to have a tea party with you, Echo-chan”_ , he had said. Vaguely, she noted that a piece of cake had also been put in front of her, but she had no intention of eating it.

“Now you’re being harsh, _Reim-san_ , “ Break replied in a tone that might have held an edge of either reproach or warning, though it was hard to see any of it between one man’s smile and the other’s unimpressed look. “You enjoy being useless just as much!” he added in a high, thick voice, trying to make it look as though it was the doll on his shoulder who spoke it. That seemed to greatly upset the one called Reim, although Echo didn’t hear his flustered reply, suddenly distracted by Sharon:

“So you have some business where _Oz-sama_ is, is that right?“ She held her cup with dainty fingers, practiced elegance in her every movement, and took a sip. “They went to a slightly... special part of the city.”

“It is where _Gilbert-sama_ is that I need to go,” Echo corrected uselessly; of course they would be in the same place, so Sharon was technically not wrong, yet she had felt compelled to specify it all the same. The Rainsworth heir however only gave an undefinable smile, and made no comment.

“It might be inconvenient to go there by yourself. If you wish, we could lend you a carriage,” she offered, but what Echo was inexplicably fascinated by was an abstract feeling surrounding the other person. It looked like she simply radiated nobility, with her perfect manners, her collected voice, and most importantly, the impressive ability of acting as though the two tirelessly arguing men right next to her were mere air.

“That won’t be necessary, miss Rainsworth.”

“Oh please, you can just call me Sharon,” she told her in an amiable tone, a gentle smile painted all over her face, but then there was a glint in her eyes that made Echo shiver. “Or, _Onee-sama_.”

This place was dangerous, Echo decided.

“Well then, _Echo-kun_...” the red-eyed man suddenly called her attention. Under the table, his fingers found hers and he slid silently a small piece of paper in her hand. Echo had not noticed he had even been writing, and she could have sworn there had been an untouched piece of cake in front of her, not an empty plate. Across the table, Reim sighed but Sharon only smiled and shook her head.

After a quick look at the written instructions, Echo stood up, bowed stiffly as thanks, and the next moment, she was off.

* * *

 

The area was located at around one hour walk south of where Gilbert lived. Though she was familiar with the zone surrounding the older Nightray’s apartment in some remote part of the capital, she didn’t regularly venture to the other side across the river. To be sure, it was far from being her first visit there, though; Vincent had certainly charged her before of infiltrating some shady, secret organization that hid in one of the old and seldom visited buildings, or spying on some equally shady personage. She had no business wondering why Gilbert would even be around there yet she couldn’t deny a certain amount of surprise; but then she remembered he got instructions from Xerxes Break, and she suddenly felt like she could understand perfectly.

She had already walked (or more precisely, ran, climbed and jumped) for a fair amount of time when she noticed something queer with the streets; all looked somewhat familiar, yet she found she couldn’t quite tell them apart. A few unsettling details caught her eyes, and made her memory blurry with doubt. _Has this building always been cracked on the side?_ she’d wonder, _or isn’t it the same building?_

Worse than not knowing where one was is that feeling of uncertainty when all the streets look the same and all the buildings look familiar, when the next turn right looks equally likely to clear your mind with some unmistakable sight, or to confuse you some more. Even worse, the whole area was filled with habitations of impressive height, aligned right next to each other in a fashion that left very narrow streets and no practical way to climb to a roof and review the surroundings from the top. The matter was not made any easier by the way the left and the right side mirrored each other almost to perfection, which would invariably block her view of the other side if she decided to climb to a moderately elevated window. And so instead, intuition and habit carried her through the roads, turning where her body’s memory felt it right and running straight ahead otherwise. Time alternatively seemed to speed up or slow down as she ran straight down one particularly long road, until it ended and she could only go back or turn left. And the turn left brought at last an unmistakable sight, although not of the kind she needed or looked for. It was not a bridge in the distance that would inform her on whether she was east or west of the river. Neither was it a special monument that she could only either know, or not know and ask about it. No, the unmistakable sight was of a completely different nature; bright of color, bright of sound, and in every way an unfitting presence in the sober streets.

“Echo-chan!” the way he mispronounced her name was unmistakable as well. Unlike Break or Sharon, he always made a point to shorten the last syllable, then link it to that short suffix that was supposed to make her sound like a friend, and a particularly nice one. She wasn’t, though. She was...

“Just Echo,” she reminded him, more out of habit than any kind of hope that he would correct the mistake, so much that she never waited for an answer. “ _Oz-sama,_ ” she added as a greeting.

The young noble wore his usual informal clothing; a small brown vest over a white shirt, and a pair of dark-green checkered shorts. A neatly fastened red necktie hung from his shirt and his brown boots were spotless despite the dusty, muddy ground. To any decent observer, here was standing a pampered, rich boy who thought that the ordinary look of his clothes would somehow distract from the fact that they were new and of a high quality fabric. To a keen observer — and she had spent way too long spying for Vincent to be called anything else —, a neatly dressed, safe _Oz-sama_ meant _Gilbert-sama_ was very close by, and that was actually all she was here for.

“ _Oz-sama_ , why are you here?” she asked, noting with surprise that Gilbert was not coming towards them, and in fact nowhere in sight.

”Well, Gil was busy clearing some misunderstanding Alice might or might not have caused,” he told her and did not sound apologetic in the least. “And I just wanted to look around, so I walked away a bit.” Then he proceeded to describe in details how he kept turning at random because all the streets are the same, not once thinking it might have been a good idea to just go back.

“So basically I’m kind of lost,” he ended cheerfully, leaving Echo half wondering why she didn’t expect it, and half pitying Gilbert.

With hardly a warning, he took a sudden step forward and clasped her hands in his, his stare a tad too intent, his smile a tad too bright, ...

“I’m so lucky to have come across you Echo-chan, it must be fate!” ... the tone of his voice a tad too dramatic, and the blood in her face a tad too hot now that she was feeling it.

“Just Echo,” she aggressively looked away, uncomfortable, “and why should I help you?” she countered in her invariably dull tone. As a matter of fact, taking care of one irresponsible master was more than enough, no matter how bad she might have felt for Gilbert. Although unlike Oz’s valet, she would certainly not mind it if Vincent got irrecoverably lost (but he never did, despite his nasty habit of falling asleep in the most incongruous times and places).

“So, what is this place?” Oz asked, undisturbed, as though he hadn’t heard her refusal. That somehow made Echo remember the exact situation she was in: she had strictly no idea how to answer that question, either.

Her face grew hotter, and meeting Oz’s gaze grew harder, but she nonetheless forced herself to look at him and appear firm and assured — with poor results, if his confused look was anything to go by —. Her supposedly cold and confident voice came out slightly weaker than intended. But only slightly, Echo was sure.

“W-well, t-this is a street on the eastern side of Réveil, a bit north of the river...” her voice trailed, then came to a stop in a half-masked attempt to make it sound as though that was all she intended to say.

“I see, so you’re lost too, Echo-chan!” the cheerful sound made her breath catch, and the next moments were lost in lively, unconvincing denials, among a “Just Echo” thrown in by a habit so strong that it was almost more natural than breathing. Oz was smiling all the while, not interrupting her once, until he noticed in her vigorously moving hands the box and flowers she was delivering. She did not see that the box was gone from her hands until she heard him exclaiming in surprise and curiosity.

“Oh, how pretty! What is inside?” he asked in the tone of a happy, surprised child as though she had given it to him as a present, and his fingers wasted no time playing with the ribbons that held it closed.

“This is not for you, it is for _Gilbert-sama_ ,” she informed coolly, all her countenance recovered; but if anything, her words only made him open the box even faster.

“Chocolate! And they look so nice!” Echo did not like how hungry the tone of his voice sounded. But she had hardly had any time to find an appropriate comeback, or to utter a word of protest before she saw Oz’s outstretched hand, extending a chocolate piece to her while his mouth was already stuffed with one. For one instant, but only one, she panicked and vehemently refused, but then she remembered how boldly Oz had once claimed to be Gilbert’s savior — and it was hard not to wonder how the defenseless boy could have saved the contractor of one of the black-winged chains, but it wasn’t her place to make sense of it —.

 _Poor Gilbert-sama,_ she found herself thinking, not for the first time that evening. Yet in the end, she took the sweet treat from Oz’s insisting hand, and she wondered if she was subconsciously trusting him not to get her into trouble, or if she was simply beyond caring what Vincent might do to her if he learned. And if she could be honest, there might have been a sort of satisfying feeling to eating Vincent’s carefully prepared gift, maybe even enough to measure up to her guilt. Under no normal circumstances she would actually trust to eat from pretty boxes she got from Vincent in fact, unless they were a gift he received from Oz’s sister — and he used Echo often to dispose of them —, or a gift he sent himself to Gilbert; although she had never dared to even think about trying the latter, not until now at least. Reluctantly, she lifted the chocolate to her mouth, and took a small bite, feeling but not minding Oz’s expectant stare on her.

“It’s sweet,” she remarked, her face relaxing as if to enjoy better the pleasant taste.

“It is!” agreed the boy, “thank you, Echo-chan!”

“It’s Echo, and it was not for you,” she reminded him with a chocolate-filled mouth, and he only laughed. The sound was warm and Echo felt she liked it; although she quickly shook her head to chase the thought away and to cool down the vague tingling feeling in her cheeks.

They had shared the complete box afterwards, and she had given him the flowers as well. To take to Gilbert, of course. For some reason, Oz’s presence and conversation calmed her down, and she managed to remember the way she had come from, not without a few wrong turns and careful steps back to the last point she was positive about walking through. Their progress was slow, and they were still walking well after the sun set down and the night fell; thankfully the moon shone brightly that evening, and they did not need to find their way in the dark.

“Oh, look! The bridge!” Oz exclaimed suddenly, and she wasn’t sure if she was hearing relief in his voice or if that was her own feeling at the familiar sight, “Gil’s house is on the other side!”

The realization made their steps sensibly more assured, and as her mind relaxed from the intense focus on the roads, Echo looked up and took in her surroundings; the hour was late, the moon was getting higher in the sky, and she knew she would need to go back soon. To the unclear boundary of her identity, to upsetting toys on the ground and to whimsical, vicious _Vincent-sama_.

 _I don’t want to go back,_ she realized, surprised at her own bold thought; it wasn’t even the first time she found herself surprised at an audacity she never knew she possessed before meeting Oz. But even so, she had to go back, she knew, because Echo can only be Echo. Because Echo can’t be anything else. Yet still...

“ _Oz-sama_ ,” she breathed so softly she thought — and maybe hoped — Oz might not hear her, “let’s get lost just a little bit more.”

When Oz kindly smiled, she knew he had heard.

* * *

_The next night as she laid on her bed, a vague recollection of her dream the night before came in irregular waves. And it seemed to her that the lingering softness had been in fact a reminiscence of sweetness on her tongue, of moonlight filling her vision and of eyes the color of emerald._

 


End file.
